Here I Am

I had a lot of time to think in the cab. We were in traffic for over an hour trying to get to the Upper East Side. I hadn’t known where the hotel was, and neither had the cab driver, and I’d stupidly caught a cab headed downtown, which meant while the driver talked with his dispatcher about where the hotel was we went south for quite a while. Sounded to me like the dispatcher looked it up in the phone book. I hoped we were going the right place.

Nothing like an hour-plus of worrying to undermine a guy’s confidence. By the time we pulled up at the hotel I was about ready to crawl out of my own skin. The fare was outrageously expensive but I didn’t care. I handed the driver a few twenties as the doorman opened the door on the curb side.

He gave me a much more gracious “Welcome to the Carlyle” than I expected to get, given that I was wearing torn jeans and a denim jacket.

“Thank you,” I said, and waltzed into the lobby like I owned the place. That’s the only way to play it, you know, when you’re trying to get upstairs in a New York City hotel where you don’t have a reservation. You have to act like you belong there. I learned this from Courtney who explained this was how groupies sometimes got upstairs, despite hotel security.

I went directly to the elevators and pushed the up button. The place was small but swanky, much much nicer than the Penta. A chandeliers-and-black-marble kind of place.

On the way to the fourth floor I wondered if I should have called from the house phone before going directly up. When I came off the elevator, though, there was a telephone on a stand, flanked by two little stools that had a 1920s look about them. I sat on one and picked up the handset.

The hotel operator answered. I asked for room 408.

“I’m sorry, sir, but that room has asked that no calls be put through.”

“Oh, um, can you take a message?”

“I can do that, sir.”

“Thanks. Uh, the message is…” I could not think of what it should say. I didn’t know who would pick the message up or anything. “Um, never mind. No message. Thank you.”

She wished me a nice day.

I walked over to the door marked 408 and knocked very quietly.

A few moments later, the door opened a crack. I could see a sliver of Tony. He unchained the door, came out into the hall, and quietly closed the door behind him.

We went back to the stools by the elevator even if Tony looked kind of ridiculous perched on one; he was large and it wasn’t.

“He’s asleep,” he said, meaning Ziggy.

“I figured. he must have come in on a red eye.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that, boss.”

“No, don’t wake him, don’t apologize. I…” I took a deep breath. “Tony, you know how it is.”

“Actually, I don’t, but I can guess,” he said. “But you can tell me if you want.”

“Short version: BNC is trying to break up the band and I’m a wreck because of the whole not talking to Zig for a year thing.”

“Okay,” Tony said, sounding skeptical.

“I mean, I don’t know if he loves me or hates me.”

“That’s rough, boss. You two need to work your shit out.”

“I know. I guess that’s why I’m here.”

“You guess?”

“Well, to try. I don’t know if it’s going to work.”

Antonio nodded. “Still. You gotta try.”

“But how are you, man? We didn’t really get to catch up last night.”

He seemed a little surprised I was asking. “I’m good. My momma had a fall but she’s fine now. My brother’s working as a physical therapist so he got her in at the place he works.”

“Ray-Ray?” The only brother of Tony’s I had met so far was a skinny kid in Chicago who was still in high school.

“Naw. My big brother.”

“Is your big brother as big as you?”

“Bigger. He’s the one who tried out for the NFL. Tore up his ankle, though, and that’s what got him interested in being an athletic trainer. Took him a while to get the credits to go to school, though.”

I nodded like I knew what he was talking about, though I only had a vague idea what was involved in a job like that. “How about you? You been keeping busy?”

“Pretty busy. I had to turn down a road gig to help out my mother after her fall, so I’ve been trying to keep busy here in the city, but now that she’s back on her feet? I might hit the road.”

“With who?”

“Not sure.” He jerked his head toward room 408 and the short braids at the back of his head brushed the top of his shoulders. “Your man there’s been making noises about wanting a full-time bodyguard.”

“He likes you,” I said. I didn’t ask about why Ziggy wanted a bodyguard or where they’d even be going. Instead I asked, “How is he?”

Tony shook his head very slowly. “You want my honest opinion?”

“Always. If I want bullshit I’ll ask Digger.”

“He’s a wreck. Ever since his mother, I guess? I’d be a wreck, too.”

“When did it happen?”

“Not sure. Couple of weeks ago, maybe?”

I tried to imagine Ziggy being in that much pain for weeks, months, and I did not feel good. “He looks exhausted.”

“Shit.” I wanted to make myself scarce before Digger got there. “Tell him I miss him. Tell him I really need to talk to him.” Tell him to keep his hands out of other men’s pants… Hah, right. Not that I had any right to even think that, but I thought it anyway.

“Wait, are you leaving?”

“Avoiding my old man,” I said. And even if I wasn’t, once he got there I couldn’t have the conversation with Ziggy I wanted to. “I’m staying with Sarah. Take her number. Give it to him? I’m not leaving the city until either I talk to him or he leaves.”

I wrote the number on the little message pad on the phone stand. Tony stood up and tucked it into his pocket, but he said, “Let me just check on him before you go.”

“Okay.”

I wasn’t in the mood to laugh then, but I feel I should point out that it’s hilarious when someone as big as Antonio tiptoes. He opened and closed the door to the room with ninja-like silence while I stood there by the elevator with my heart getting louder and louder.

The door opened again and Antonio gestured for me to come in.

—
(Yes, next post, Daron and Ziggy will actually be in the same room! And speak to each other! I know you all have been waiting a long time for it, and you already very generously triggered this post to begin with! So I’ll make you guys a deal: I’ll post the reunion post tomorrow if you guys can amass 50 ‘fan points’ in the comments below. You get 1 point for every social media post praising DGC & linking to us -Tweet, Facebook, Tumblr, LiveJournal, etc- 1 point for any new Amazon, Goodreads, or Audible.com review of any DGC book or ebook, and 1 point for every comment you leave here quoting your favorite lines from DGC. Comment below for each action you take and include a link or a screencap as proof, ok? -ctan)

Comments 37

I really, really like Tony too. As someone said Thursday – I’d like to see more of him. It sounds like he’ll be around more, though, if he’s maybe going to be Ziggy’s bodyguard.

I can’t help wondering what’s changed in Ziggy’s head between the end of his diary and here… he seemed pretty clearheaded. On the other hand, when I lost a parent I went completely nuts for almost a year.

“Thank you,” I said, and waltzed into the lobby like I owned the place. That’s the only way to play it, you know, when you’re trying to get upstairs in a New York City hotel where you don’t have a reservation. You have to act like you belong there.

Quotes, you want quotes? Would it surprise you to hear I have a file of Daron quotes? It shouldn’t.

I’ll start with one, shall I?

“It was almost as if there were just the three of us, and yet it was nothing like a rehearsal. Ziggy came to life, howling and leaping off the low stage, then climbing back up like a four-legged spider, and never missed a note. I got so caught up in watching him that I almost missed hitting my footpedal before the solo in our third song. I closed my eyes, then, letting the solo carry me through to the other side where I passed the strand of melody back to his voice. I opened my eyes. He was lying on the floor between my legs, making like the microphone was an ice cream cone. Or something else. I felt my breath go ragged as I closed my eyes again, felt him brush my calf as he crawled away.”

And as if he were proving my point of last night, Ziggy was bristling with manic energy, throwing himself from place to place on the stage while he sang; the wireless mic freed him to whirl like a dervish, to collapse at my feet. I played looking down into his eyes while he lay on his back and sang. I taunted him with riffs, exchanging looks and music until he narrowed his eyes. Whatever game we were playing he seemed suddenly sure he could win it. As he began to sing the next chorus, the look in his eye changed from maniacal to feral and the meaning of that look struck me full on as if he’d mouthed the words “fuck me” right there. I felt a surge of energy up through my spine and I closed my eyes as I went to my knees, the part of my brain that wasn’t pulling the solo out of my fingers wondering if Bowie had ever taunted Ronson like this.

And Ziggy took it as a warm up, just breezing through the lyrics without too much effort, at least for the first two verses. I started to noodle a little, playing a countermelody without really thinking about it, echoing off the last few notes of each line. When we reached the bridge, I had thought we might break off since I didn’t intend to play a solo, but he answered me right back, picking out pieces of the lyrics and sort of scatting them back at me, more melodic than a rap but less wordy. Chris and Bart just kept chugging along and letting us fly. And at some point we changed from me answering his vocal riffs note for note to unison, and I couldn’t have told you which one of us was leading that improvised melody.

When the song came to a close, the silence of the small theater seemed loud. So did my heart and breath. We were standing face to face, maybe a foot apart.

The rest of what we talked about was trivial stuff. I can’t even remember what. Just stuff. Until at some point he dozed off, and I just let myself doze off right after. It felt too good to be wrong.

I know, I know. Right before that I’d kissed my boyfriend-lover-special-person goodbye, and here I was cuddling with another guy. But one of the things that made the thing with Jonathan so special was that it was about him and me and not about me and anyone else. We weren’t exclusive. And Ziggy wasn’t a boyfriend. I couldn’t even call him a lover.

He was my singer. That was more intimate and more significant than any other “standard” relationship I could label.

Anyone who wanted to judge that could go to hell.

I love the “He was my singer.” line because I totally understand what he means about how intimate that bond is.

You are beautiful, I wanted to tell him. You are the most gorgeous creature who ever crawled out of the black pit of despair. But I felt weird saying that with Ray standing right there in the wings and Chris looking down on us from the drum riser.

“Then someone jumped out of the crowd, dancing, an orphan vampire child, dressed in layer upon layer of ancient clothing straight from the rummage bins at Salvation Army and his eyes ringed with heavy black liner. He had on at least three different patterns of plaid. His fingers pointing from fingerless gloves, he waved his hands over our eyes. He struck cat-like poses, sprang into the air, and laughed. He danced around passers-by, miming undecipherable stories, and then, sometimes, singing.”

I have been meaning to write a review but I need to be not so sleep deprived when I write it. Right now copying and pasting is about all my brain can handle. Besides I have been torn about what to say in the ebook review because I really think it is way more fun to read it online and participate in the comments.

Here’s another from post #380.

It had been maybe forty five minutes since I’d last seen him and I was feeling antsy, like I was going to fall apart if we were separated for too long. Oh, that is not a good thing. Not at all. Some people like being head over heels–that’s why there are so many songs about it. But I found it hard to enjoy when all it meant when he walked out of a room was that a fist squeezed my chest as if he’d taken permission to breathe with him.

Sex and drugs and rock and roll. Is it any wonder I felt incongruously safe and comfortable in a place where people were very definitely doing illegal things in the darkened corners and the thing they did out in the light was worship the beat?

I have two favorite moments from the last couple of years that I can think of. The first one I can’t find, though I’ve searched over a hundred posts for it. It’s when Ziggy sticks a stuffed animal through the curtains into Daron’s bunk, asking him (in a fake voice) if he’ll come sleep with him, or hold him — something like that. I wish I could find the post.

The other was when D & J were at Matthew’s art show:

“Yeah. I have to be here. When your partner’s dying, you can’t be ten thousand miles away when it happens.”

So matter of fact. I felt like he’d just hit me in the chest with a hammer. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s life. You live it. You make the most of it. You count your blessings for the time you have together. We had two perfect years.”

I made my way forward again. As I was passing through the bunks toward the front lounge, looking for Ziggy, something soft bonked me on side of the head.

I looked and it was the white fuzzy nose of a stuffed unicorn. The unicorn was staring at me from where it was sticking out behind a bunk curtain. “Psst, hey Daron, Ziggy wants me to tell you something,” said Ziggy’s voice, but high and unicorn-y.

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“That he’s having an attack, but it’s totally okay, because he’s strapped in.” The unicorn then ducked behind the curtain.

I’m cramming five quotes in here, picked partly based on the section titles being ones I where I wanted to see the vid again, and largely because they tell us a hell of a lot about Daron and/or Ziggy.

1. “The only thing I have on my to do list is laundry.” I tried to make it a joke but it came out dead serious….
“Go do your laundry. You won’t regret it.”
-387. Patience

1B. Comment #6 on the post is kind of hilarious, too, re: sexual tension and inappropriate songs for Remo.

2. “Look, I ticked things off in my mind:
Digger and Claire were both out of my life,
I was playing guitar and writing songs for a living,
I had money in the bank and friends…

and, there was Ziggy. What the fuck.”
-94. Carry On Wayward Son (‘And there was Ziggy. What the fuck.’ Can we have that on a shirt? A button? I’d settle for an icon.)

3. “Of course, I have a band. I mean, what’s the point of living, right?”
-4. Always Something There to Remind Me

4. Not a favorite quote but more a… ‘Ziggy, you manipulative little shit’ moment that didn’t look like it at the time, and means EVERYTHING in hindsight:

“You can help me.” He dropped his eyes then, shy, his speech halting. “Show… show me.” He sat up more and put his other hand on my shoulder. “Show me what it’s like.”

I did not move as he wrapped himself around me. “What do you mean,” I repeated.

“Do you know how much I envy you? Having sex with your peers, others who you understand, whose desires you know because they are the same as yours…”
-56. Madness: One Step Beyond

5. “What’s the matter?” He sat back, his lip curled.

A thousand thoughts crowded my head. We couldn’t be lovers, the rumor would spread; no, Ziggy’d never keep it a secret, he’d want to trumpet his newfound bisexuality to the world; he had no morals whatsoever, I couldn’t let this happen… I took a step back from him, my stomach in knots. What had I done? He didn’t force me to go through with any of it. I took another step back when I saw he was smiling.

“Daron,” he said, his voice low, “are you… afraid?”

I found some words. “This can’t happen again.”

“Why not?” He stood up now, and when he stretched and yawned I could trace his ribs under his skin. He sauntered near me, then turned toward the bathroom. “Come on. Who’s going to know?”

“Relax.” He flicked on the light and examined himself in the mirror. “It’s no big deal.” He didn’t look any the worse for wear, other than a little scabbing on the back of his knuckles. Then he turned his black irises toward me. “After all, it’s not as if I love you.” And he shut the door, leaving me standing there in the too bright sun, alone.
-58. Sympathy For The Devil, included for being the first time I felt totally gutpunched by DGC

I don’t know if this counts, but I’m terrible at doing recs in my social media space (or remembering to use them at all), so I tend to email people or catch them on IM and talk about DGC until they come to the dark side. This is from an email thread I started with one of my OTW staffers this week:

It ties in, too, to having Daron’s Guitar Chronicles by Cecilia Tan (herself an OTW and fanworks enthusiast, as well as HP fan) as my primary fandom. If you’ve not come across it, go immediately to daron.ceciliatan.com. It’s a long, on-going story about a rock guitarist in the 80s, coming out, falling in love, dealing with the world during the rise of HIV and AIDS, and while music genres were beginning to blend and blur. I never do it justice in a rec, but it’s pretty much everything I could want as a fan, from being an interesting story to having an author who is regularly and actively engaged with and available to her audience. The posts themselves are the 80s mixtape you never knew you wanted but absolutely needed, because they each include a video of a relevant song.

(There was a response email with a note about tending toward fantasy and sci-fi fandoms rather than reading about the real world)

I don’t mind reading about the real world through the lens of DGC. I talked to Cecilia a while back about it being a bit of a history lesson along with all the other great things it is. It covers a time span I lived through and remember parts of vividly, but the age difference between me, the other readers, the characters, and Cecilia means we all remember different aspects of it and are always hearing and sharing new information and perspectives about old things. In some ways, it’s a good model for how to craft collectivist histories that don’t only leave the stories that survive to the “victors”, which is another thing I’m very interested in.

It’s funny, because I tend toward sf/fantasy myself, but one of my really early readers, back in the nineties, pointed out that I write DGC the same way I write my science fiction, like we’re visiting another world. A world which needs some things explained to the reader and yet which takes other things completely for granted. I think I don’t know how to write a story any way other than the “science fiction” way.

For any of us who aren’t musicians, it really is visiting an entirely different world. The timeframe makes a difference, too, as I’ve been talking to friends about the liner notes who weren’t born until the late 80’s or into the 90’s, so some of the cultural aspects, like NYC being a ~scary~ place, and the rise of AIDS are a little lost in translation for them. Thankfully, you’re an amazing tour guide.

I am loving this quote-a-thon! Some of my favorites are up there, but here are a few more (forgive me for not making separate posts, count them anyway).

“His eyes caught mine then, and his fingers pulled along the stubble under my chin, until he was kissing me. He broke away and nodded goodbye, a gust of cold wind hitting me in his wake as the door closed. And I was left trying to remember if I’d ever kissed a man that I wasn’t about to fuck or had just done.”

“I missed my cue. That was when I was supposed to just say: I’m gay. Just drop the bomb and then duck, right? In that moment though, two little words weren’t just two little words, they were the tip of a motherfucking iceberg of secrets and lies that there was no way in hell I should have been keeping from him. ”

“As I lay in bed that night, though, still slightly buzzed, all I could think about was how his lips would have been cold from touching the edge of the beer bottle if I’d kissed him, and how his tongue would have been hot behind that.
Fine. I jotted it down to use in a song. “Infernal Medicine.” My obsesions had to be good for something. ”

“Part of me wondered how he could feel that way about me, when there was no way I was worthy of such devotion: whether it was love or obsession didn’t matter. That level of devotion should be reserved for those… like him, who inspire that kind of thing. ”

“The obvious solution was to jerk off. When I started, I even did the corny thing of pretending it was Jonathan’s hand. But then my mind wandered, and I went sort of in and out of a dream, and the next thing I knew I was biting the edge of the comforter to keep from crying out someone’s name, possibly the wrong someone. We’ll never know for sure, though, because I kept my fucking mouth shut. ”

“Can we stop talking about buttfucking!” Chris roared and then put his face down on the drum head, his long, feathered hair hiding everything. “Oh my god,” he moaned from under there.”

Last one for me because I need to sleep.
I realized as I have been going through these that so many of my favorites would require posting the entire chapter so I skipped some. There are more I could post but I’m off to sleep. Can’t wait till the next post.

Post#430 Bad English

When I guy gives you a speech like that while his hand is still coated in your jizz, you’re supposed to hear violins in the background, you know the ones, with the sunset in the background and the crashing waves and little hearts floating up like soap bubbles. Thing is… I hate cliches, too. I’ll play them all day long in the studio if that’s what they’re paying for, but when something’s mine? That’s different. I didn’t like the sound of those violins. Did I feel special? I did, but not in a way I liked. It would take me weeks to figure out why. Yeah, I felt special, the way a leopard in a zoo is special, exotic, different. I didn’t much like that feeling.

It’s midnight and I count 48 points so far! Under the theory that at least two more of you are going to jump in before post time tomorrow, I’m locking and loading it to go live about ten hours from now. :-)

I also think this is officially the longest comments section we’ve ever had, both in terms of the number of comments and in the length down the page because so many of them are wordy! When was the last time the comments stretched longer than the sidebar? Possibly never! :-)

Wow, I turn up a day late to the post, and turns out I missed all the excitement!
I’m so happy a new post is going up in only a couple hours :)
I know it’s not needed, but my favourite quote is basically all of ‘Ziggy’s Story’ from way back when. It’s just so nice to actually see what he’s thinking!

Ctan mentioned this in her blog but I’m posting it here too because I still find this haunting. This is the post right after the hair dye/handprint T-shirt post.

Post 227. Knock Me Down.

“Just replace it with ‘Sweetness is so venomous.’”

“Shit. That’ll work perfectly.”

“I know.”

“Okay, Mr. Smarty Pants, now come up with a chorus.”

I heard a chuckle. “Doesn’t need one, really. Let’s just use a vocal bridge. Like this.” And then he started to sing. He sang the whole damn song, new line and all, and when he hit where a chorus would be, he just sang “ooooh aaaaah” but…

But I knew just what he was talking about. I’d never really wondered until that moment, hearing my words sung back to me, if maybe I was as bad for him as he was for me.

Later, I’d hear that song a lot more times, in all kinds of circumstances. But under it all I’d always hear the way it sounded that night, through the kitchen phone.